


The Second Goodbye

by authoressjean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Schmoop, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Love is complicated, Past Amelia Richardson/Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester and Choices, Season/Series 14, resolutions, ultimatums don't help anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25974664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: "The instant Sam picked up the phone and looked at the name of the person calling, Dean knew it was something big."Set in S14. A phone call sends Sam back to Kermit, Texas, to help someone he hasn't seen in years. It also gives Dean a chance to go along, right a few wrongs, and make sure that Sam gets a proper farewell this time, not ultimatums and heartache.Sometimes, you get a second chance to do it right. And when those opportunities come up, well, Dean knows to take them.
Relationships: Amelia Richardson/Don Richardson, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Past Sam Winchester/Amelia Richardson
Comments: 61
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello random fanfic idea. I've never been particularly attached to Amelia and, quite honestly, thought her and Dean both gave Sam a really raw end of things. Once again, no choice or control for Sam, just hard decisions where no one really wins.
> 
> So this is me, trying to right a few wrongs and give Sam some choice back, as well as some awesome big brother!Dean which was missing from the first half of season 8. Because the boys have both grown up, and that includes being able to look back and see that hey, bad choices were made, and sometimes you get it wrong.

The instant Sam picked up the phone and looked at the name of the person calling, Dean knew it was something big. Not like, “Oh, sure, you forgot your license and we have it here waiting for you,” but, “Hey, your mom’s suddenly alive and you should come pick her up,” sort of level. Or something comparable. That was honestly the best thing that Dean could think of these days. Maybe other people had other, more normal references. Dean’d never been big on normal.

But the fact of the matter was that Sam took one glance at his screen and the calm he’d had all morning, sitting and pouring through texts in order to categorize them, was gone. Eyes went wide, mouth even dropped open a little, and he lost most of the color in his face. That was…interesting.

Even more interesting was the casual, familiar way in which he answered. “Uh, hey, hey. How are you?”

The _most_ interesting thing, though, was when Dean moved towards him, Sam suddenly glanced up at him and lost even more color. Dean stopped, frowning. What the hell?

“Uh, yeah, I can,” Sam told the mystery caller. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it figured out, all right? Let me look at it and see what I can do.”

Then he glanced at Dean again and swallowed hard. “I’ll call you later when I’ve got something, all right? It’ll be all right.” A moment later, he hung up.

Curiosity was burning inside of Dean at that point, making his feet fidget. Most of all, it was Sam’s behavior that made him want to know who it was.

Slow and steady. If there was anything he’d learned over the past fourteen plus years, it was that Sam didn’t want to be crowded, and he’d clam up tight. Especially since whatever it was already made him look at Dean like he was waiting for a punch. “Something urgent?” Dean asked.

“Just some research I need to do,” Sam replied instantly, like he’d been waiting for Dean to say something. “That’s what we do when someone needs help, right?”

Giving absolutely nothing away, and it only made Dean itch to grab his phone and see who. Treating Sam like a child wasn’t the way to do this, though, and if Sam didn’t want to trust him with whoever had called, well, he had to let Sam know he could. “Right. And I help you, so just tell me where you need me and I’m there.”

Something flickered across Sam’s face, and Dean just waited. Patiently. He could do patient when he needed to, and right now, it was absolutely necessary. Because he’d seen that look a million times on Sam’s face, and he was really done with it. The look of fear, of being trapped. They’d sworn to be truthful with each other, to not lie as best as they could, but this looked like it might test the bounds of that promise.

After a long moment of tension, Sam finally let out a long sigh. “I promise if I need help, you’re the first and only person I could think about calling, but…I need to do this one on my own.”

Dean pursed his lips at the run-around language and thought, not for the first time, that Sam would’ve made a hell of a lawyer. But it gave Dean a chance to breathe, too. This wasn’t Sam completely keeping secrets: this was Sam needing to do whatever this was on his own, but willing to call Dean in if he needed backup. And in the end, that was all he could ask for.

“Just tell me,” Dean told him. “We’ve got more than enough help around here now too, if you need a second or third set of eyeballs with a lot of different experiences than mine.”

Sam’s face went red and Dean shook his head quickly, because dammit, he hadn’t intended on shaming the kid. “I’m just saying, some things are easier to talk over with other people, all right? I’m here, but I can also be…not here.”

The red faded and Sam finally gave a slow nod. “It’s not you,” Sam said, pursing his lips. “It’s not. It’s…it’s other things.”

All right, fine, he could run with that. “Then get researching,” Dean said, and he went to get a cup of coffee, deliberately leaving Sam alone. Sam could handle it. Sam was a big boy.

And he was sure to talk to someone. He had to. Right?

* * *

Sam didn’t talk to Castiel. He didn’t talk to Jack. And he didn’t talk to any of the random people that seemed to fill the corners of the bunker these days. None of the people that Dean asked said that Sam had come by to speak with them, though Cas just shook his head at Dean’s askance.

In desperation Dean reached out to Rowena, but the witch just scoffed at him and told him to actually just _talk_ to his brother. “I’m sure you’re closer to him than I am, physically and emotionally,” she drawled. “Why not just poke at the not-so-wee lad and ask him?”

Dean scowled for a few hours after that, sending people scurrying right and left. Castiel just rolled his eyes but thankfully didn’t say anything. Served him right if he wasn’t going to help Dean.

It was as he was passing by one of the reference rooms that he heard Sam’s voice, and he glanced in. Sam sat at the table with a phone and a notebook in front of him, and across the table was Mom.

“Yes, I’ll hold,” Sam was saying, and he glanced over at Mom. She gave a nod back and lifted her own phone, clearly waiting. A moment later, it rang. She grinned and answered.

“Deputy Director Stevens. Yes, Agent Davis is one of ours. Any information you can send would be greatly appreciated and certainly remembered in the future. Yes. Yes. Very good, please speak with my agent about further details.”

She hung up and gave Sam a thumbs up. Sam’s lips turned up a little, then his attention went back to the phone. “Yes, I’m still here. I’d prefer them faxed, if you could. Any and all information about the Richardson case would be greatly appreciated.”

Richardson? Why did that name sound familiar? Dean furrowed his brow. Richardson, Richardson—

Sam’s lips tightened. “No, we have no reason to suspect his wife Amelia at this time.”

He quickly gave out the fax number of the decrepit machine right behind him, but Dean went very, very still. That _was_ where Dean had the name of Richardson embedded in his mind: Amelia Richardson, the woman that Sam had lived with, cared for, possibly even loved. The woman that Sam had left behind at Dean’s ultimatum.

It felt wrong now, but he remembered the anger he’d held at Sam settling down and letting him go. To Dean, it had been the biggest betrayal, that Sam had moved on.

Then there’d been the Trials. Then the Mark. Then Lucifer and Amara and the Men of Letters.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Sam with anyone. There’d been that one girl in the Impala, Piper, Dean thought her name was, but that had been years ago. Then Eileen, but she was dead. Maggie from the other world kept trying, god help her, but Sam was so not interested it was seriously funny. Except…

All right, Dean had messed it up big time all those years ago. Sam hadn’t deserved the words he’d hurled, the accusations he’d made. There was no one more loyal than Sam, no one who loved Dean like the kid did. He got that now. He really did.

And denying Sam that spot of happiness after all the crap that had been slung at him seemed cruel. Even before the Trials, Sam had been dealing with Lucifer in his head after years in the Cage. Then losing Dean, letting Lucifer loose, losing Jess…

No wonder Sam hadn’t told Dean who it was. It hadn’t been because he’d been ashamed or embarrassed, but because he’d possibly feared Dean’s reprisal. And that was absolutely wrong.

The sound of the fax machine sounded, and Dean glanced into the room to see Sam head for the papers that were spewing out. He seemed to be regarding them intently, and Dean could imagine his mind going a million miles an hour. If anyone could figure out what was going on, it’d be Sammy.

His mom seemed to be thinking along the same thoughts. “You’ve got it figured out?”

Sam spared her a glance, then turned back to the papers. “They think that Amelia’s husband shot a man, and they have him on video. But he swears he was on the other side of the county, that he had no connections with the man, and there are three witnesses that support his claim. Including Amelia.”

“You seem to believe her,” Mom said. She steepled her fingers under her chin, index fingers resting against her lips. It reminded Dean so much of what Sam did when he thought through something.

There was a pause as Sam clearly tried to think of what to say next. Fortunately, or unfortunately in Sam’s case, Mom was just as smart and quick to put two and two together and come up with— “You care about this woman.”

“She’s a friend,” Sam said firmly, but Mom shook her head.

“This is more than just caring about a friend. You’ve been matter of fact about this husband of hers, but the minute you mention her, it’s by name. Sam—”

“Please don’t,” Sam said quietly. Mom began to speak, then seemed to think better of it and pinched her lips tight. Her eyes showed her frustration, the same frustration she’d had when she’d asked Dean what types of relationships he’d had over the years. She wanted them to find someone.

As if hunting hadn’t killed her and destroyed any chance of a happy family she could’ve had.

Mom cleared her throat and Sam visibly tensed. “You think it’s a shifter?” was all Mom said.

There was gratitude and relief on his face, and he gave a small smile. “Yeah, I do. It shouldn’t take much to root out and handle. I’ll head out early tomorrow; Kermit is a decent distance from here.”

“Better tell your brother to get some sleep then, too. I know he can drive on a few hours of sleep but Dean—”

“Isn’t coming.”

The answer was expected. It still made Dean flinch a little. “What do you mean?” Mom asked, perplexed. “Why wouldn’t Dean go with you?”

“You do realize that we’re grown men, right? And we can hunt on our own?”

“You two were determined to go get _groceries_ together last week. And don’t avoid my question by giving me more questions.”

Okay, the grocery thing had been more to rile Mom up than anything else, and there’d been a lot of food to carry. “There were a lot of groceries to bring back,” Sam muttered, almost petulantly.

Mom raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. _Seriously, Sam?_ Dean couldn’t help but think, wincing, because that answer was only going to provoke Mom all the more.

Sam cleared his throat, as if realizing his mistake. “I’ve gotta pack—”

“Tell your brother,” Mom said firmly, and Dean winced again, but for her this time. There was no chance in hell of Sam actually coming to tell him anything. Not on this. “He deserves to know that you’re heading off on a hunt.”

“This isn’t really something that Dean needs to get involved in. Trust me.”

“Did Dean like this woman too or something? Whatever it was—”

“I’m going to pack,” and there was the hard edge in Sam’s voice that Dean had been waiting for. It was firm and determined, and Dean quickly moved on before Sam could come barreling out. It wasn’t like Sam was going to come tell him what the case was about, or who it was for.

Fine. Dean knew, and that was what mattered. Besides, he had packing of his own to do.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Castiel woke him up. “You wanted me to tell you,” he said, and Dean got moving. Cell phone, bag, jacket, and boots. One look at his clock made him all the more grateful for the thermos of coffee that Castiel handed him, which his friend just waved off with a knowing smile.

Of course Sam would take off while the sun still hadn’t risen. Had the kid even slept?

He made it to the garage and tossed his bag into the trunk, then left it open, leaned against the side of the car facing the bunker door, and waited. The coffee helped wake him up, but only a fraction.

Sam finally came through about six minutes later, according to Dean’s watch, and moved quickly down the stairs. He headed with conviction towards the key box, then came to an immediate stop the minute he saw Dean. Dean just took another sip of his coffee and waited.

“Uh, hey,” Sam said, slow and wary. “Where are you heading out to?”

“Texas,” Dean said. Another sip.

He watched Sam’s face pale, eyes widen in shock. “Kermit, Texas, actually,” Dean said. He kept his gaze even, expression unguarded, because he’d botched this once and he wasn’t going to let it stay that way. Sam should’ve felt okay coming to him and telling him, no matter what had happened before, but apparently the events of all those years ago had come through louder than their recent years of being the best hunter team anyone’d ever known.

Sam finally shook his head, tearing his gaze from Dean’s. “I’m coming back, all right? This isn’t me running off with Amelia or, or saying I’m done or—”

“God, Sammy, you think I don’t know that?” Dean asked incredulously. “She called for help. You’re being ten times the person any reasonable ex would be, and you’re stepping up.”

That seemed to throw Sam for a loop. “And I’m proud of you, for doing it,” Dean continued, because if he didn’t get this out now, he never would. “I just wish you’d been okay with actually telling me where you were heading. Or why.”

Misery filled Sam’s face with no small amount of shame, but Dean waved him off. “I get why. That’s on me. I screwed the pooch all those years ago, and I made some bad choices. I let myself get jealous of the same damn thing I did myself a handful of years before. I’m glad you weren’t alone, while I wasn’t here.”

“Neither of us do alone very well,” Sam said softly. Dean made a face but nodded. No point arguing the truth. When the world decided to take everything from you except the one person you cared about the most, you sort of clung a little harder to that person.

Dean took another sip. Sam stayed right where he was, but he didn’t look as apprehensive anymore, either. “So, Kermit? Home of the frogs? Please tell me their mascot is a frog.”

Sam’s lips turned up. “It’s not. It’s the Yellow Jackets.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Missed opportunity. Toss your stuff in, I’ll drive, unless you’ve got coffee stashed somewhere I can’t see.”

Two minutes later and they were rolling out of the garage. “Did you sleep at all?” Dean asked, then handed over a travel pillow the minute Sam opened his mouth. “You can take a leg later. I at least caught a few Z’s.”

Sam took the pillow and settled in while Dean rolled them out onto the road, heading for the first road south. As he went to take another hit from the thermos, Sam’s voice drifted through the silence. “Thank you.”

Dean set the thermos down and rested his hand instead on Sam’s shoulder, a solid and sure grasp. He left it there until he felt Sam shift into sleep, then reached for his coffee.

The smile stayed on his face for the next twenty miles.

* * *

Sam wound up driving the last leg to Amelia’s place. The house was a sweet little place, a normal type of house in a normal type of neighborhood. Dean’s hunter senses took over, though, and he noted the hedges of holly, the rock garden that formed an Enochian symbol of protection, and there were sure to be protective runes etched into the floorboards and windowsills inside. The house was as defensible as a hunter could make it without overtly putting up a fence that screamed, “Demons Keep Out.”

And there on the front porch was a woman that clearly recognized Sam. Her entire face lit up, her chestnut hair a far cry from Jess’s blonde or even Ruby’s darker locks. Maybe that was part of why she’d been safe.

A dog suddenly shot out from behind her and straight for Sam as they exited the car, and Sam knelt down, only to nearly get bowled over. Dean had forgotten about the dog. Sam actually had a smile on his face, the first real smile that Dean had seen since Amelia had called, and it was all for the pooch. The dog had some white in his muzzle, but he still bounced like a puppy.

Amelia came down the front walk at a far more sedate pace. Dean gave a brief nod and reminded himself that Sam had offered for him to stay at the motel, to wait for him, to not have to crash in on what was going to be an awkward reunion. It was for that reason that Dean had insisted he come along. First thing about helping make this right was to not leave the kid alone while he dealt with seeing the woman he’d probably loved. Especially since they were there to spring her husband loose from a murder conviction he didn’t deserve.

“Sam,” she greeted, and oh yeah, there was definitely longing in her eyes. Sam hadn’t been the only one who’d been hurt by their separating. “Thank you so much for coming down to help. I just…I didn’t know who else to call. And you’d mentioned that you and your brother helped people, and, well. I figured I fit into that category.”

“No, I’m glad I could come,” Sam said. He gave her a smile and rose, patting the dog on the head one last time. “I’m glad that you called.”

Amelia nodded, and the air got a little more tense than awkward. Dean cleared his throat. “We haven’t really met. I’m Dean.”

“I assumed,” Amelia said, raising an eyebrow. There was a definite spark in her eyes, the sort of fire that Dean could appreciate himself. “Though I was under the impression, for a while, that you were dead.”

“As far as anyone could’ve known, I was,” Dean told her. “No one could’ve known any different.” Aimed at her, the words were absolutely meant for the tall guy next to him. Because Sam couldn’t have known.

Amelia still didn’t look thrilled to see him, and honestly, the feeling was fairly mutual. Not because he didn’t like her, he didn’t know her. She was as much a victim right now as any survivors they talked to, her husband affected by supernatural forces. All he knew was that his brother had stayed with her, cared about her enough to move into a house with her and live with her. That gave her some positive points, now, when he could admit that he’d been a jerk about the whole situation.

But at the end of the day, no matter his part in it, Amelia had given Sam an ultimatum, too. One he’d heard about years later when Sam had needed to stay up and talk after the whole Cas-said-yes-to-Lucifer discovery. She’d told him to stay with her or leave and they’d never return. Which had left Sam with two ultimatums and no choice of his own.

She’d hurt him, plain and simple. And this whole situation, of the husband who’d come back into Amelia’s life and shoved Sam out, was just rubbing salt into a wound.

It was Sam’s turn to clear his throat and he nodded to the house. “Can we talk inside? I need to know a few things about what was going on before we can find the evidence we need.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Amelia said, nodding swiftly. “Riot, c’mon, let’s go.”

The dog headed for the house but whipped around halfway there, clearly waiting for Sam. Sam shook his head, a fond grin on his face. “Go on, I’m coming.”

“Favorite,” Amelia accused from the porch. Sam just gave a quick smile and moved forward. Satisfied that Sam was coming, Riot moved ahead again. They looked like a tidy little family going inside, and for a minute, Dean felt something ugly slither into his chest and take root.

_I’m coming back, all right? This isn’t me running off with Amelia or, or saying I’m done._

He took a deep breath and headed after them.

He came inside and glanced around. A few runes were tucked into the corners, right where Dean would’ve put them, and he’d bet there was still salt in the grooves of the floor. Sam had done well.

Something wet nudged at his hand, startling him. Riot stood, nose patiently ready to nudge him again. Hesitantly Dean reached out and gave his head a pet, and Riot panted happily. “Sucker for attention,” he muttered, but he kept petting Riot. He’d never been the dog sort but they reminded him of Sam in a way: always giving, happy to help, wanting affection, and full of a lot of hair. This one was definitely Sam-like.

“So he was here?”

Dean glanced up and found them in the living room, with Amelia handing Sam a folder full of paperwork. He seemed to be focused more on Amelia than the paperwork, though.

“No, we were out at Ravyn’s Bar,” she said. “There weren’t a lot of people there but we went out with another couple that recently moved in. Couples night, you know? We’ve been…trying to reconnect, any chance we can get.”

“You hate Ravyn’s,” Sam said without pause, then stopped, as if he hadn’t meant to say that.

Dean cleared his throat and came in before Amelia could respond. “So there were witnesses. Can any of the staff help corroborate? That usually comes across a lot better if someone vaguely impartial can witness. Friends can be suspect sometimes.”

Amelia shook her head. “It was packed, and I mean packed. I asked and they couldn’t even say who’d come in and done our table that night. So that doesn’t work.”

That would make things difficult. “Does the bar have a camera?” he asked.

Another shake. “There’s one outside, but you can’t see Don’s face. I don’t know if any other cameras would pick it up, but no other businesses would talk to me without a warrant, which of course I’m not liable to get without a lawyer.”

“First stop,” Sam said, and Dean nodded. “Then get the police report.”

“It’s in the folder,” Amelia said, and Sam shook his head.

“No, the real police report, not the one they gave you for bail proceedings. We’ll get it.”

Amelia paused, glanced at the two of them, and then finally came out with it. “What exactly do you guys do? You’ve never told me, you just said you help people with weird cases. Are you…marshals? Detectives?”

“It’s a private organization that specializes in this sort of matter,” Dean said smoothly. The Men of Letters were definitely private; he figured he wasn’t stretching the truth too far. Clearly, Sam had never told her a damn thing.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t a stupid sort, and her eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to compromise Don’s case if you’re not licensed private investigators—”

“You called me,” Sam said, quietly but firmly. “And I’m here. I know what’s going on with Don’s case, all right? We’ve dealt with a few of these before, we know what to do. You did the right thing calling me, but you’ve gotta let us work.”

She paused again, but with thoughtfulness, not suspicion. He hadn’t asked her for much, hadn’t offered much either, so it was a testament to how much she trusted Sam that she finally nodded and let it go. “Whatever you need,” she said, before jerking her head towards the stairs. “I’ve got a room made up for you, well, one of you, but I can get the sofa ready—”

“We’ve got a room in town,” Sam said. “It’ll let us get to the sources we’ll need quicker that way.”

The fakest lie Dean had ever heard, one that Amelia clearly didn’t buy either, but she gave a swift nod all the same. “That makes sense. Let me know where, I can bring whatever you need.”

Oh, she’d be by, all right. And if Dean needed to make himself scarce, he could do that. Whatever Sam needed. He was determined that this time, it would be Sam’s choice what happened, what came of it.

They headed out not long after that, Sam making the swift exit. When Dean glanced back, she stayed on the porch, holding on to Riot to keep him beside her. Riot barked once and then slumped. He almost felt bad for the pooch.

“Where to?” Dean asked, refocusing on who he felt worse for: his little brother, whose face could’ve been carved from stone. “Food? Library?”

“Motel to change, then sheriff,” Sam said quietly. “We’ll go from there.”

Maybe Sam really did just want to get it done. Maybe Sam wanted to help Amelia and then get the hell out of dodge, back to the life they’d spent years carving out for themselves. “You got it,” he said, and he pulled away from the house.

* * *

The sheriff, seeing their military police badges, gave them the real police report. “I thought you guys didn’t want to deal with him, with him being discharged and all,” he said.

“We just need to make sure that it’s tied up on our end, and that, if necessary, we’ll get his record set straight,” Dean lied. “We appreciate the help.”

“Anything for the stars and bars,” the sheriff said, and left them to view it over.

It wasn’t big, nor was it particularly flashy. Simple and straightforward: they had still shots from the camera with him shooting a man, his face clear as day. Another few stills of a man that looked like him coming out of the bar with the other couple and Amelia, but the face wasn’t as clear. The other still, however, was picture perfect.

The video wasn’t hard to obtain from police records, and the tell-tale silver glare of the eyes was visible as soon as the guy turned from shooting the victim. “Definitely a shifter,” he murmured. Sam nodded tightly.

Dean pursed his lips. This really wasn’t the world’s greatest place to do this, but Sam had been silent and vaguely non-responsive for a few hours now, ever since they’d gotten back in the car after changing into their suits. “Are you okay?” he finally asked.

Sam glanced at him before nodding again, but it was a lot less certain than before. “Seriously?” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “That was, like, a fake question when we both know you’re not okay. You kinda failed here, dude.”

“What do you want me to say?” Sam whispered, and Dean was aware that they themselves were on camera inside of the police station. “I just want to deal with the shifter, help Amelia, and head back. That’s all.”

Okay, fine. “Sure, Sam,” he said, pitching his own voice low. “Where to next? Library? We need a map of the sewer system, I’d bet.”

“Police report says he disappeared into a nearby building and they couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten out from there without being seen. The building’s in the shadier part of town, a lot of closed businesses and boarded-up places. Easy place for the shifter to hide.”

Dean glanced at the address. “We’re gonna need a body to clear Don, you know that, right?”

Sam nodded. “We can do dinner, deal with the shifter when it’s dark.”

“Be heading home by morning?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow. It was clear now what Sam’s preference would be, and while his little brother might not be completely regretting coming to Amelia’s aid, he also wasn’t enjoying it.

Sam nodded again, but slower. “Yeah,” he said softly. “…Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

Back at the motel, Dean kicked Sam out. “Go get dinner,” he said. It was clear Sam needed some time to himself, to think it over, to deal with it. “You know all the best places here, I know it.”

“I haven’t been here in years,” Sam protested, but Dean just shook his head.

“C’mon, there’s gotta be some good ribs or steak nearby. We’re in Texas, get some meat.”

“You know how that sounds, right?”

Jokes: Sam couldn’t be too far off. Dean threw a balled-up pair of socks at him which Sam deftly sidestepped, but with a small grin. “Steak, bitch,” Dean ordered. “And some wedge fries too.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. There’s a place not too far from here. I’ll be back in less than an hour,” and it sounded like a promise, one that he didn’t have to make and one that Dean didn’t ever need to demand of him.

“Take all the time you need,” Dean said, and Sam hesitated at the door. There was uncertainty on his face, and a lot of it, and Dean just nodded. For whatever Sam needed, if he needed to talk to Amelia alone or just walk, it was fine. And he needed Sam to know that.

Slowly Sam nodded in return, then headed out. The Impala roared to life before fading into the distance. Sighing, Dean settled back into the chair to look over the building and sewer plans.

Not even ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Dean stood, hand on the gun at his back, because no way was that Sam. He peered through the eyehole, then stared. How the _hell_ had she found them?

He pulled the door open. Amelia seemed startled, like she hadn’t been the one pounding on the door. “You’re fast,” Dean told her.

She flushed a little but mostly looked irritated. “I know the owner, and he knows Sam. Speaking of—”

“He’s not here. He went to grab food, some place not far.” Back soon but not back soon enough. As much as Dean was trying to let Sam handle this his way and get the closure he needed, that didn’t mean that Dean was going to graciously let her walk in and all over him or Sam. There were limits.

“Probably The Business, owned by a local family. Great steak and wedge fries, but better known for their beer.” There was a memory on her face, and it was a good one. She gave him a rueful smile. “He always talked about how much you’d like it: more dive bar than fine dining, pool table and darts. He loved it. He always smiled when we went.”

Oh. Dean softened, just a little. “You want to come in and wait?” he asked. “We’ve got a lead, I can tell you about—”

“I wanted to talk to Sam,” she said, then winced. “Sorry, god, that came out…pretty bad. I actually wanted to talk to you, too, I mean, you were all he talked about, the only thing that helped during the bad days. I can’t say I’m not curious.”

He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t. “Bad days?” he asked.

Amelia made a face. “He doesn’t have days where he stays in bed? Where he can’t seem to find words? Horrible nightmares? It was PTSD of some sort, I know that, I just didn’t know from what. I saw some from Don but…nothing like Sam’s.”

Don had gone through one form of hell on the front lines: Sam had gone through the worst kind. “Not anymore,” he said, but his mind took him back to the past few years where that had been the case. He hoped he wasn’t lying now.

There was an appraising look on her face, and she was clearly the blunt, frank sort, not afraid to mince words. He could see why Sam had liked her. “You’re not what I expected,” she finally said. “And yet you sort of are. I guess I had this image in my head, this idea of a larger-than-life guy who managed to care for Sam even while you were fighting with him. That sort of dedication…I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She laughed a little, a despairing, bitter thing. “I hated you,” she admitted, rubbing her arms with a shiver. “I really did. Even though I had Don back, I lost this amazing man that I…”

She glanced at him and seemed to realize who she was talking to. “That’s not fair. I’m sorry. I really just came here to talk to Sam.”

“If it helps, I hated you too,” Dean said, and he startled a laugh out of her. He gave a rueful grin. “He doesn’t settle down for years and then all of a sudden, shacks up with a vet and her dog.”

“To be honest here, he brought the dog,” Amelia pointed out. “Though I’ll admit it didn’t take much on my part to keep him. Riot’s a sweetheart.”

_A lot like Sam_ went unsaid but was loud enough that Dean heard it loud and clear.

Dean cleared his throat, because something else needed to be said. “You came looking for him, didn’t you?” he asked. It was clear now that Amelia had more than missed Sam. “All those years ago, you tried to meet him.”

“Except he was gone,” she said, with some resignation. “I’d hoped that he would choose me, that he’d be waiting for me. And he was just…gone. In and out of my life in the blur of a year, and I guess I didn’t want to lose what I’d found.”

Dean got that. Dean hadn’t wanted to lose what he’d had, either, and there wasn’t a day that went by where he wasn’t grateful that Sam had gone with him. Sam could’ve stayed with Amelia. Maybe even should have. But he hadn’t. He’d chosen Dean. When the demands had been made, Sam had gone with Dean.

She shivered again, this time from the cold, and Dean noted that she’d come dressed very nicely. The sort of nice that Dean usually took notice of in a bar. “You, uh, want to come wait inside?” he asked. “He can’t be too much longer.”

She shook her head slowly. ”No, I…no. I’ll, um, talk to him in a bit I’m sure. Don’t tell him I came by, will you? It’d be easier.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Dean said. “I know he’ll want to talk with you, though. So just…make time for it.” It mattered to Sam. He hadn’t hesitated before coming down. She still mattered, somewhere inside, even after all these years.

She nodded, and there was a wistfulness there as she regarded him. Dean resisted the urge to ask and just waited.

She finally gave him the words she’d been thinking, but they were so far from what he’d considered that he blinked, surprised. “You’re his best friend. He talked about you like you were everything he had left in the world. I guess I never had a chance, but I knew that, deep down. As soon as you came back, I knew he’d leave.”

And before he could think of responding to that, she gave a little wave and headed to the parking lot. A moment later, she took off in a truck, leaving Dean still standing in the doorway.

It took a long time to close the door and get back to the table. Longer still to try and concentrate on the paperwork in front of him and not the apparent notion that everyone had known that Sam would leave with Dean except Dean. He’d always assumed that Sam, with his beautiful woman, normal house, and even a fluffy dog, wouldn’t hesitate to stay with them and not Dean. Somewhere deep down, he’d always assumed that Sam had chosen him out of guilt, out of duty. It wasn’t until after the Trials that Dean had considered just how much he meant to Sam – and how much Sam truly meant to him.

How much the kid _still_ meant to him as the best hunting partner he could ask for, his go-to for help and ideas, his kid, his best friend. He’d nearly lost Sam again to Lucifer earlier in the year, and leaving Sam behind in that cave with the vampires had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

It made him think about just quitting, some days. If it meant keeping Sam safe, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

The door knob rattled, and Sam stepped in, two paper bags in hand. “They had a few bottles of their tap on hand, so I grabbed them,” he said, closing the door behind him. “It’s a really nice stout that I know you’d really enjoy. Every time I had it, I kept thinking about that one beer you had years ago at that bar that shut down, how much you loved it. It’s a really good beer with steak—”

Dean found himself on his feet before he could think about it, and he caught Sam around the shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. Sam froze, paper bags still in his hand, which only made Dean hold on all the tighter. Beneath him, Sam’s chest rose and fell with each breath, and his heart beat in his chest. Despite it all, Sam was alive. Despite it all, Sam was there.

Slowly Sam reached up and returned the embrace, though with extreme confusion. The bags weighed against Dean’s back. “Um,” Sam said, sounding absolutely bewildered, “not that I’m complaining but…what happened?”

“Shut up and deal with it,” Dean said. He deserved to take a minute to hug the hell out of his kid. Especially since they were in a place that Sam hadn’t wanted to come back to, a memory that Sam hadn’t wanted Dean to deal with, a woman that Sam had cared about and left behind to stay with Dean. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Dean because Dean had chewed him up one side and down the other the last time they’d been here.

And he was still bringing in steak and beer from a place that he’d wanted to share with Dean, six plus years ago.

The arms around Dean got a little firmer, the hold a little more solid. Dean just smiled and held on for a moment more before stepping back and clapping Sam on the shoulder. Sam still looked confused. “Dinner, then a plan?” Dean asked before Sam could ask again. There wasn’t really an answer that Dean could give him verbally. Not for that. “I think I’ve got a good idea of where the shifter’s probably set up.”

“…Yeah,” Sam finally said. “Dinner and a plan.”

The beer was just as good as Sam had promised. So was the steak. And Dean wondered, if he hadn’t been so determined to tear Sam away, if he could’ve had it all those years ago, and maybe not hurt his brother in the process.

Second chances were there for a reason, though. And Dean made a mental note to make sure Sam got a chance to talk with Amelia alone before they went.

* * *

The shifter was easy to find, actually. Near the same place was a Don Richardson look-alike, one whose eyes glowed in the light of their flashlights. Finding him wasn’t the issue.

Dealing with him was another matter entirely. The shifter took one look at Sam and raised his eyebrows. “You again?” he asked. “You came back?”

Dean frowned and glanced at Sam, whose gun stayed trained on the shifter. “If I’d met a shifter the last time I was here, you wouldn’t be standing here,” Sam said, voice dangerously low. “Trust me.”

“No, no, I’m talking about who I am,” the shifter said, and he grinned. “Don Richardson. Military guy, retired. You know. The guy whose wife you stole.”

Sam froze. With a snarl Dean readied his gun to fire. The shifter kept going. “You know, when I bumped into Don when he kept me from killing the guy I’d been intending on taking out, he was the sort of all-American guy I could be. But then his head, whoo! Marital problems, a wife who hasn’t let go of this random-ass drifter who took her for a spin for a year, this guy who clearly loved her and then just _left_ her. Did you know that she went chasing after you? Oh man, that led to a _really_ awkward time, let me tell you. And over six years later, it still hasn’t changed. Don, I mean _me_ , I’ve been staying as far from Amelia as I can get because it’s not like I can top the great Sam. Except he’s not so great after all, is he?”

Sam himself couldn’t seem to move, his face caught between horror and grief. Dean just took the shot because enough was enough.

The shifter dodged too fast, though, faster than any human should’ve gone, and then took off down the road. Dean cursed and took off, and Sam thankfully hurried to catch up. The lights from above kept the shifter mostly in sight, at least until it turned the corner. Dean gritted his teeth and pushed himself a little harder. He should’ve just taken the shot before it could mouth off at Sam. Why the hell hadn’t he just pulled the damn trigger?

He rounded the corner and suddenly found himself flying the opposite way. The pain registered only when he landed, running across his chest and shoulder, and he barely managed to hold onto the gun. The shifter stood across from him, a large pipe in hand, and Sam was coming up right behind Dean. “Sammy watch out!” he shouted.

The shifter swung and Sam ducked, missing the pipe as it swung inches above his head. Sam immediately came up with a punch that, while it didn’t land, still made the shifter stumble backwards. Dean pulled his gun up and fired.

The shifter howled as it fell, grasping at its shoulder. Dean grimaced and shook his gun hand out – he would’ve hit center mass if his hand hadn’t been so tingly. Not that it mattered, with Sam towering above the wounded shifter.

The shifter looked up at Sam and started laughing, low and dark. “Bet this has been a recurring dream of yours,” it said, Don’s face turned into a nasty sneer. “Take me out of the picture and get Amelia all to yourself. Make it easy to be the homewrecker that only cares about himself—”

One loud shot echoed through the area, and the shifter fell, already dead. Dean stared as Sam glared down at the shifter, but his little brother’s face was also scrunched up in misery. The shifter’s words had clearly hit home, in a way that Dean had never really thought about. Because of course Sam would feel like the person who divided a couple, even though the husband had been dead and gone.

Dean shifted and got himself mostly to his feet, groaning all the while. He’d bruise, and bad, but he could still breathe and mostly move his arms. They’d do triage later: right now, they needed to get the body to the cops before it disintegrated.

A hand caught him beneath his elbow and started pulling him up. He hissed but let Sam finish getting him upright. “How bad?” Sam asked, voice almost a whisper.

“Not as bad as you would’ve taken it,” Dean said. The shifter had adjusted his aim and would’ve caught Sam across the temple. He’d seen that show already, and it had ended poorly. “C’mon, we’ve got a body to carry.”

Sam nodded, but he wasn’t looking at Dean. His eyes were locked on the shifter. It was Dean this time to caught Sam’s elbow and gently tugged him away. “Them having issues, that’s not on you, Sam,” he said quietly. “He was gone. She was free to do what she wanted.”

A pause. “I was gone, too.”

He got a long look for that, but it was less resigned, more hopeful, the desperate kind that wanted affirmation and someone to say it was all right. Sam had given him that look numerous times over the years, particularly when he was a kid, looking up to his big brother in the hopes that Dean was telling the truth.

Who was Dean trying to fool? Sam was still his kid. And Dean was still there to help him.

Sam still had his eyes on Dean instead of the shifter. “You need to talk to her,” Dean told him. “Not for her, I could give a rat’s ass about her. I appreciate that she was there for you when I couldn’t be, so there’s that. But you need to be okay with what happened, one way or another. You didn’t get that last time. I want you to have it now.”

There was pain in his brother’s eyes now, but it was the most transparent Sam had been with him since Amelia had called a few days ago, so he took it for a good sign. “Call her,” was all Dean said. “All right? Promise me.”

“I will,” Sam said at last. “You’re…okay with that?”

Dean nodded. “I screwed the pooch on this before, remember? This is your call. Get it sorted.” Time to be the big brother. “And if that means being here with her, then that’s what happens.”

Sam snorted a laugh, his lips turning up into that little sad smile that Dean hated with a passion. “I’m not staying here, Dean. I can tell you that much.” The smile faded, but into more thoughtfulness than before. “But…I do need to talk to her. To close the door right.”

He glanced back at the shifter. “We need to clear Don first. Can you carry?”

“Yeah.” He’d be sore, but he could do it. “Let’s get it done. The car’s not far.” And conveniently parked away from every security camera Dean could spot.

Between the two of them, they managed to get the shifter’s body loaded between them, though Sam was clearly intent on carrying most of the weight. Dean just shook his head in fond resignation and let him.

“Thanks,” Sam said when they were almost back to the car, his voice quiet but full of warmth. “For helping.”

“You got it,” Dean said, and he knew they weren’t talking about the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to toss a nod to Jensen's brewery. Take a cookie if you saw it.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam led the charge at the station, military police persona enough of a drill sergeant to make John Winchester himself proud. Between the dead body that was clearly almost Don Richardson (the face had changed a little between death and arriving at the station), the evidence stacked against them, and one angry and confrontational Sam, the sheriff had no problem releasing the real Don Richardson, charges formally dropped. They left, leaving fake contact information for one of the old cell phones at the bunker. Dean hoped he’d gotten the number right and that it wouldn’t show up at the FBI one. He’d check when they got back.

They left before Don got released. Sam figured it would be far less awkward and Dean didn’t disagree. Besides, he’d sort of seen enough of the dude’s face, and he hadn’t even been involved with the guy’s wife.

It wasn’t until they got back to the motel, where Sam immediately started packing, that Dean realized he’d completely misread Sam’s intentions. “Woah, woah,” Dean said, holding his hands up and wincing when it pulled on abused muscles. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready to leave,” Sam said, then stopped and frowned. “Why, what’s wrong? Are you okay? You said it wasn't hurting bad enough to drive, but I can take over if you need me to.”

It was touching that that would be a reason for Sam to put on the brakes, even while it made Dean want to roll his eyes. “I’m fine, you idiot. What happened to staying and talking to Amelia?”

Sam pursed his lips and turned back to his bag. His shoulders were almost up to his ears. Oh, so he’d clearly changed his mind. That hadn’t taken long. “I’ll just call her,” he said, aiming for casual and landing on his face. “I don’t need to physically meet up with her.”

“Sam,” he started, and then there was a very familiar knock on the door. One that Sam clearly recognized, or had at least been expecting, if the way he went stiff was any indication.

Dean, feeling _extremely_ helpful, answered the door as quickly as he could. There was Amelia, bathed in the light of the outdoor motel lights, hair pulled back into a quick ponytail that only accentuated her features. Dean was man enough to admit that if he’d seen her in a bar, he absolutely would’ve hit on her. She was gorgeous.

And relieved: her shoulders seemed to drop a full inch whenever her eyes caught sight of Sam. Sam himself had abandoned his bag, too busy watching Amelia. His eyes darted past her and suddenly the tension was back.

Dean followed the gaze and oh. There was Don, leaning against Amelia’s truck, looking nine types of awkward. He gave Dean a stiff nod, but it was accompanied by a genuine smile. Pained, watching Amelia, but genuine.

Leave, or stay? It wasn’t Dean's choice. He glanced at Sam and cleared his throat, catching Sam’s immediate attention. He raised a single eyebrow. _Where do you want me?_

Sam took a deep breath in. “Dean, can you, um, just…give us a minute?”

That was definitely courage, especially to lay it out so baldly. “I’ll grab some drinks for the road,” Dean said, heading over to the drink machine he’d seen. If he happened to pass the first one he came to and went on to the second one, much farther out, well, that was his choice. The kid deserved some time with Amelia.

Footsteps behind him made him turn around, and he blinked, surprised, to find Don standing there. “You’re Dean, right?” he asked. “Sam’s brother?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” After a moment, Dean handed over the can of root beer he’d just purchased. “It’s not real alcohol, sorry.”

Don snorted but took it. “I’ve spent the last few days in jail, wondering what I was supposed to do with a murder charge for a crime I didn’t commit, and then suddenly I’m out, free and clear. Amelia said you guys had something to do with it. Thanks for that, by the way,” he added, and Dean nodded. “So when she said she wanted to make sure Sam didn’t leave without saying goodbye this time, well. I couldn’t really deny them that.”

“He’s not staying,” Dean said quietly. “The last thing he wants is to be a homewrecker. It was never about that.”

Don nodded slowly. “Yeah, I got that when I met him, all those years ago. Amelia said he’d been as lost as she’d felt, both missing people they’d thought were dead and gone. Doesn’t always make it easier, though.”

Not for Don, clearly, but Dean had long since realized that Sam would give for Dean just as much as Dean would give for him. They didn’t do alone well, especially alone without the other. Now, years later, Dean could be happy that Sam hadn’t been alone while Dean had been in Purgatory. At least Sam had had someone to keep him going.

It didn’t exactly feel the same when the relationship wasn’t familial or almost parental. He thought back over the shifter’s words and winced. “Have things been bad?”

Don shrugged while Dean got another two drinks out of the machine. “Hard, I guess. But I haven’t really been around. I’ve had other things to do, with my new position working the civilian side of the army. She’s had her clinic. It’s just been easier to co-exist." He paused, gripping the can a little tighter. "It...hasn’t really been fun. I don’t know what she really wants.”

“Guess you should ask her,” Dean said.

Don blinked, then shook his head with a grin. “Guess I should.”

Time to rescue his kid and deliver Amelia back to Don. He led the way back to the motel room, not at all surprised that Don followed but at a distance. Closer to the room, Dean could hear voices, and he slowed before he reached the door.

“…not the same.”

“I’m not either, Ames. The Sam you knew all those years ago—”

“The Sam I started a life with, you mean?”

Dean winced, for Sam and for Don. He had to admire the blunt way she tackled things, though.

“Yeah, that one,” Sam said, not giving any indication that he was surprised by her head-on response. “I’m not him. I haven’t seen that guy in the mirror in what feels like eons. Even if we were to give everything up, start over somewhere again, it wouldn’t be the same. You know that.”

A pause. “I do,” she finally admitted. “He’s not the same but…I’m not either, I guess. I feel the same inside, but I’ve changed. Maybe for the better. Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter because you wouldn’t leave your brother behind again. I know that.”

“You wouldn’t leave Don behind,” Sam pointed out.

She gave a mirthless laugh. “I was willing to, all those years ago. I came looking for you at the hotel and you were gone. Just as quick as you’d come into my life, you were gone.” Another pause. “I’m not willing to now. God knows that we’ve barely talked in what feels like years, with as busy as the two of us have made ourselves, but…I still love him.”

“You loved him then, too,” Sam said with what sounded like a smile. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“I loved you, too,” she said. “I want you to know that. What I felt for you wasn’t fake, you weren’t some second-hand replacement for Don. Part of me still loves you, and I probably always will.”

The response, when it came, was soft and full of grief. “Me too. Then, and now. You’ve got a part of my heart and that’s not…it’s not going to change. I heard your voice again and it felt like it did all those years ago.”

Dean shut his eyes. The wistfulness, the longing, in Sam’s voice, it was almost more than he could stand to hear. For a minute, he wanted to go back in time and punch the daylights out of himself. Sam had made something here with Amelia. Sam could’ve had something.

When Sam spoke again, it was far stronger than before. “But we’re not there anymore. And that’s okay. You’ve got Don, and I heard the fear in your voice when you called. You were seriously afraid of losing him again. That’s why I came, Amelia. Not because you called, not because you asked. Because of that fear.”

“I still don’t know how you managed it,” she said. “But I am so incredibly grateful that you did. All these years of just going through the motions, trying to rekindle something I thought I’d blown out, and the instant they carted him off…Sam, I couldn’t breathe. I was terrified I’d lose him again, just like I had before.”

Dean stole a glance behind him to Don for the first time. Don had something that looked an awful lot like hope on his face. They’d be all right.

“I’m glad I got to say goodbye, this time.”

“We said goodbye before.”

“No, it was a shitty way to split, Sam, and you know it. I shouldn’t have stuck you with that choice, not when you’d just gotten your brother back. I should’ve said goodbye for real. I just…wanted it all, I guess. But I had to choose, too.”

“You chose well,” Sam said, and there was the pain in his voice, right on schedule. “Just talk to him. He loves you.”

“You met him once, how could you possibly know—”

“He drove you here after getting released so you could come talk to me. I don’t know a lot of people who’d be willing to do that, Ames.”

A pause as she seemed to take that in, and Dean backed up, then started forward, making his footfalls heavy enough to be heard. By the time he got into the room, Amelia was almost at the door. “Have drinks, will travel,” he said cheerfully. “You guys need more time?”

It was Sam who spoke, quietly, but with conviction. “No, we’re good. Thanks.”

Dean gave a nod, then finally let himself look at Amelia. She looked tired, small, but even as he watched, she took a deep breath and pulled herself up taller. “Yeah, we’re good.”

A lot of strength in her, quiet strength with a boldness that easily matched Sam’s. For a moment, Dean was sorry she was married, sorry that it wouldn’t work out, because she would’ve been good for Sam. And Sam would’ve been good for her.

Not the Sam he was now, though, but the Sam of several years ago. He was a different man now, defined by the last years of insanity. It made Dean all the prouder of him.

Dean felt more than heard Don behind him, and he wasn’t really surprised. Sam didn’t seem surprised, either, but Amelia looked startled. “Don, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Don said dismissively, but Dean could see the smile on his face. “Ready to go, Amy?”

Amelia slowly began to smile. She glanced back at Sam, just once, and reached out to take his hand to give it a quick squeeze. “I am, yeah,” she said. “You take care of yourself, please?”

“Do my best,” Sam said. He smiled at her and let go, then gave a nod to Don. “I know she can take care of herself but it’s always good to have someone by your side.”

“You know it,” Don said. “And thank you, for coming to help. I don’t even know what the hell you did but I’m damn grateful for it.”

She left then, her husband going with her. Don took her hand in his, making Amelia’s eyes widen as they headed for the truck. He said something to her, too far for Dean to hear it, and Amelia let out a bright laugh. A moment later and Amelia was gone.

Good for them, but that wasn’t anywhere Dean’s first concern. That was for the man in front of him, standing alone and looking almost small in a way that Dean rarely associated with his brother. “You okay?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded, short and jerky nods that didn’t exactly convince Dean otherwise. “You sure?” he pressed.

Sam took a deep breath in. “I actually am. It was good to see her and do it right, as much as I didn’t really want to. This feels a lot better than last time.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier.”

A small, bitter smirk. “No. No, it doesn’t.”

He’d said it already, but now, with Amelia already gone again, it needed to be said again. “Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“Dean, you don’t have to—”

“Not just about how it went down last time. I shouldn’t have made you choose like that. Especially since she gave you the same ultimatum.” Something he hadn’t known about for years. “But I’m sorry you didn’t get to keep her. She was good for you.”

Sam’s eyes darted to the floor. “She was. She kept me going in a dark time. But she wasn’t mine, not really. She’d already given her heart to someone else. We sort of gave each other the scraps of what was left of our hearts.”

He turned back to his bag and zipped it closed, which Dean took as a sign that he was done talking about it. Fair enough. Dean set the cans of soda – now sweated through and making his hands sting – on the top of the Impala. When he turned back, Sam already had their bags in hand and brought both around to the trunk. One last check of the room revealed a missed sock that had fallen beside a bed, and then they were done.

They were on the road not five minutes later, cans of soda pop between them already open. Dean debated his options as he turned them north: let it rest, or try and get Sam to talk? It was a hard choice these days, because Dean had figured out that sometimes, a chick-flick moment actually helped, but Sam had decided to take his traditional route and not talk anymore. Which, unfortunately, Dean was fairly certain was probably his fault for discouraging talking or jumping down the kid’s throat.

Well. He was here undoing past screw-ups, might as well do, or undo, one more.

Before he could say anything, however, Sam spoke. “I wonder sometimes, what would’ve happened if I’d stayed with her. If I’d tried to make it work. She was the first one I really cared about in a long time.”

It was expected, but it still made Dean fight to cover a wince. “Sam—”

“You said before we left the bunker that you’d made some bad calls. Well, I made some not so awesome choices, too. The one choice I don’t regret, with the entire thing that happened with Amelia, is going with you.”

Dean glanced over at his brother. Sam met his gaze evenly. “If I’d stayed with her, we would’ve been okay. But you would’ve been alone, no one to watch your back. I wouldn’t have seen you in who knew how long. I wouldn’t have known if you needed help. And…that was what really decided me. You being safe, you being by my side, that mattered more.”

Sam’s lips turned up a little. “So in the end, I guess I made my choice. And I don’t regret it.”

It was more than Dean had expected to hear. “I’m still sorry,” he said after a moment.

The smile he got was a little more tinged in sadness, but then it cleared, and Sam gave him a quick elbow-to-elbow bump. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

That, Dean could do. As much as this trip had hurt, Sam seemed calmer, more at peace with his choice, and that had been the main goal. Surprisingly enough, Dean felt better about it, too. He’d wondered for a long time how much Sam had wanted to stay, how much he’d been coerced or guilted into coming with Dean. A woman and a dog and a normal life had been Sam’s dream for so long.

To know now that Sam had had reservations about staying, that he’d made the choice himself even with the ultimatums handed to him, left the knot in Dean’s stomach releasing, and more than a little warmed. Even after all these years, to hear that Sam chose him, that meant something.

Sam took another sip of his drink and made a face. “By the way, next time, just come in; you held this so long that it’s warm and kinda flat.”

Dean’s face went hot straight down to his neck. “Bite me, bitch,” he grumbled. Of course Sam had known.

“Jerk,” Sam said fondly.

The miles rolled beneath them.

* * *

Mom was waiting for them when they got back. She didn’t say anything about them coming in together, just raised her eyebrow. “How’d it work out?” she asked instead.

“One dead shifter, one innocent guy busted out of jail,” Dean said cheerfully. “I’d say that’s a successful hunt.”

Mom began to speak again and Dean cut her off, because Sam was getting tenser behind him with each passing minute. “Help me get something to eat? We didn’t stop, just wanted to get back, and we’re starving.”

At least she could take a hint better than Dad ever could. Where Dad would’ve kept going, Mom slowly nodded and headed to the kitchen. “First shower’s yours,” Dean told Sam, and then he followed after Mom.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Mom rounded on Dean. “Did he see that Amelia—”

“He did, and we’re good. Leave him be,” Dean said firmly. “This one hurt enough. He’s made a choice and it wasn’t easy but at least it was his.”

It didn’t look like the answer that Mom wanted, but just then Sam came in. “Wanted to grab something to eat before my shower,” he said, and his shoulders were back, his head held high. “So what’s on the menu?”

Facing it head on, as always, determined to stand beside Dean even though Dean was doing it for him. It just made him all the prouder of the kid.

Silence rang in the kitchen. Mom parted her lips to speak and Dean tensed. “I was thinking some grilled cheese sandwiches with some tomato soup. I’ve got some fresh peaches too.”

Comfort food, some of Sam’s favorites. Sam visibly relaxed in front of them and gave a small smile. “That’d be great, Mom. Thanks.”

Dean had no doubt that Sam would tell Mom at some point. But it would be on his time, his choice again. Mom got that and it made Dean want to hug her.

Later. When he could talk a bit more himself about his side of things.

For now, there was warm food and people who cared. Castiel came in a little while later looking for tea and happily joined them at the table. It was a long time before anyone got showers or left the kitchen in general. Sam didn’t recount anything about Amelia. Dean didn’t lend anything about their time in Texas.

“I’m sorry, did you just say that Dean got taken out by a mop?”

“It was one time,” Dean said, tuning back in, and Sam threw his head back and laughed.

Somewhere else, Dean hoped that Amelia and Don were working it out. They deserved their spot of happiness.

So did Sam. And in this regard, at least, Dean was certain that he’d found it.


End file.
